


Playing Dumb

by pianoforeplay



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-20
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianoforeplay/pseuds/pianoforeplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared has a crush on his English TA and comes up with a totally fail-safe plan to spend more time with him. Also, there is a game of pool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Dumb

**Author's Note:**

> Written for monday7112 for Mishaleckipalooza and initially posted [here](http://pianoforeplay.livejournal.com/48515.html) on 5/17/11.

Jared honestly never planned on becoming a college cliche. Or well. He never planned on becoming this specific _type_ of college cliche. The all-nighters fueled by copious amounts of Red Bull, the weekends of drunken debauchery and questionable moral decisions, the incredible sexual experimentation and exploration sparked by a random blowjob from the school's second string wide receiver, those he had _totally_ counted on.

Getting a ridiculous and embarrassing crush on his Composition TA, now that he had not plan for.

Thing is, Misha isn't even really his type. (In so much that Jared _has_ a type, anyway; the whole fooling-around-with-dudes thing is still kind of new to him. At least the actual physical aspect -- group handjobs during summer camp back in middle school totally don't count.) He's kind of geeky and aloof, and has a seemingly endless supply of horribly ugly sweaters to go along with his endless supply of random non-sequiters, but he's so far removed from anyone Jared's ever met before that Jared can't help but be drawn to him.

That's what he's tried telling himself anyway. It's easier than just admitting he finds the guy crazy-hot in a Mr. Rogers meets Stephen Wright meets Rupert Everett kind of way.

(Jared often argues being full-blown gay because he does still like sex with girls and _likes_ having sex with girls, but then Chad reminds him that he makes references to Rupert Everett and his argument kind of goes out the window.)

So yeah. Jared's TA is hot. And smart. And hilarious. And seriously fucking weird in a way that only makes him just that much more fascinating. If Jared is a cliche for wanting to sit at the front of the class and write 'I love you' on his eyelids, then fine. He'll just have to deal with that.

Misha holds his office hours in a corner of the cafeteria under the student union every Tuesday afternoon. It took Jared about half an hour to hunt him down the first time, a fact he felt compelled to share once he finally found the guy.

"What do you mean?" Misha replied with a tilt of his head. "Didn't you see the signs?"

When Jared's only response was a confused (and mildly irritated) frown, Misha motioned to the tiny sticky note stuck to the front of his table. Upon squinting and leaning in close, Jared could just barely make out, " _ENGL 104 Composition and Rhetoric - Professor Louisa Adkins - TA: Misha Collins - Office Hours 3:08 to 4:07_."

"Uhm. That's a post-it."

Misha shrugged. "I ran out of construction paper." One simple statement was seemingly enough to end the conversation as he continued with, "Please take a seat." Sliding over a paper plate of tater-tots, he added, "And help yourself. They always have extras on Tuesdays. Best day of the week, am I right?"

The guy then spent the next ten minutes explaining the etymology of Jared's last name, which he had apparently decided to Google the night before. "Purely out of curiosity," he claimed. "Not a name you hear all that often, is it? But it's very strong. Very sturdy. Suits you."

"Uh. Thank you? I think?"

"There aren't many of your type around, you know that?"

"Yeah, we're-- It's a pretty small family," Jared conceded, rolling a cooling tater tot in his palm. Despite Misha knocking them back like M&Ms, Jared was a little reluctant to partake.

"No, I mean..." Misha said, grinning as he gestured vaguely while resting back in his chair. "Tall, extremely good-looking, _and_ smart. There are so few of us. You're an engineering student, right?"

Jared blinked. "Yes?"

"You're not sure?"

"No, I'm. I mean, yeah. Yes. Mechanical."

Misha nodded. "So math is more your thing."

And the thing is, Jared could've argued that. Maybe should have, even. Because yeah, he's good at math. He's fucking _great_ at math, actually -- score of 780 on the SAT and fives on both his Calculus and Physics AP exams -- but he's not an idiot when it comes to English. If only because his mother, a high school English teacher of twenty years, would probably disown him if he was.

In fact, Jared had scored a four on his English AP exam, which was why he was even taking Composition and Rhetoric in his first semester to begin with.

But, he didn't argue. With so blatant an opportunity, he _couldn't_ , and simply laughed sheepishly as he scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, pretty much."

And then Misha said, "Well, I guess I'll be seeing a lot of you then."

So. fucking. _easy_.

Since that fateful day, Jared's Tuesday afternoons have been spent chewing on cold tater tots while pretending to not know how to string two written sentences together. The latter has been a little more difficult than he'd initially figured, but it's been worth it to have an hour of Misha's undivided attention. Barring, of course, the few times other people have actually shown up. Which, Jared is a little embarrassed to admit, have been irritating. (But seriously, their questions were _stupid_ and could've been answered just as easily by email. Or, God forbid, simply reading the damn syllabus or actually paying attention in class.)

And, okay, Jared isn't completely delusional; he knows how pathetic this whole thing makes him. And not just because Chad feels the need to tell him at every given opportunity. He knows Misha is simply doing his job or whatever, but sometimes he can't help thinking that maybe there's actually something more there. Something that Jared isn't totally making up in his head even.

Because, like. There was that one time Misha brought him a copy of Bob Dylan's _Blonde on Blonde_ a week after Jared had shamefully admitted to not being able to name a single one of his songs. And the time he scribbled out a list of relevant websites to look into when Jared mentioned thinking about spending a summer working in Europe. And the time he gave Jared a six-pack of Red Bull after Jared was freaking out over his upcoming Economics exam.

"Holy shit, he totally wants to bone you," Chad declared after Jared explained the presence of the pint of Ben & Jerry's "Half Baked" in the freezer of their communal mini-fridge. (A reward for earning a solid A on his ethics of euthanasia paper. A feat made all the more impressive considering Jared had spent two weeks in Misha's office hours pretending he could barely spell the word 'euthanasia' before churning out his twelve-page paper four hours before it was due.)

"Yes, because nothing says 'I love you' like a pint of ice cream."

"Fuck that, who said anything about love?" Chad asked, peeling off the lid. "I'm talkin' full-on, hardcore, gay monkey sex right here. It's code."

Against his better judgment, Jared arched an eyebrow. "Code?"

"Think about it," Chad continued, grabbing a spoon off his desk. "Ben & Jerry's... B&J... BJ. You can't tell me that's a coincidence."

"You are so full of shit," Jared replied, leaping off his bed to grab the cold container from Chad's grasp. "And you're not eating my ice cream."

"Oh, come on! You ate most of it already anyway!"

"Go buy your own; I earned this gay monkey sex ice cream."

"You earned jack shit, _Lolita_."

Rolling his eyes, Jared grabbed a spoon from the pencil holder on his desk and dropped back onto his bed, ice cream held possessivly to his chest. Chad just glared at him in return for a long moment before finally admitting defeat with a heavy sigh.

" _Fine_. God, I can't wait for you two to just fucking fuck already. Your blue balls are killin' me."

By the fourteenth week of class, Jared's blue balls are killing him, too. And, despite, getting a B or above on every single paper, he's still showing up on Tuesday afternoons and still pretending that Misha's tutoring is to credit for his grades. (Which, to be fair, is probably at least partially accurate given that Jared can't seem to concentrate on any of his _other_ classes at the moment. But admitting as much only forces Jared to face how truly pathetic he really is.) The fact that they don't really talk much about composition or rhetoric anymore hasn't escaped Jared's notice, but Misha has yet to call attention to it. Instead, they talk about Jared's other classes and Misha's thesis concept. Jim Carrey's career, their hometowns, current events, and how the rise in frequency of natural disasters means the Mayans are totally right and they're both going to throw a massive, _massive_ party on December 20th, 2012.

"And Chad is not invited," Jared says because the last time they went partying together, Jared had to carry Chad home fireman style and ended up with vomit all over the seat of his favorite jeans.

Misha shakes his head, grinning. "No, no, Chad is definitely invited. From what you've told me about him, I can think of no better way to end the world than watching him try out his Last Night on Earth speech over and over again."

"If he strikes out on enough women, he might try it on you," Jared says. "Fair warning."

"And I may very well consider it." Jared's pretty sure Misha's joking, but it still hits kind of weird and settles uncomfortably, until Misha's lips curl into a grin and he adds, "Unless, of course, I get a better offer."

It's the _way_ Misha says it, his voice low and intent, that instantly makes Jared's face heat red as he sputters out a laugh. "I, uh. I'm pretty sure an offer from, like, Donald Trump would be better."

"You're planning on inviting Donald Trump?"

Jared shrugs, trying to ease some of his sudden crazy tension. "Why not? I bet he'd bring some pretty good booze."

"Hmm," Misha says, seeming to consider that, though his eyes never leave Jared's. (Jared sometimes finds his stare a little unnerving, like Misha is systematically analyzing him piece by piece, parsing through all his secrets and failures and embarrassing moments. But he can't ever look away because 1. he doesn't want to appear weak on top of all of that and, 2. Misha's eyes are fucking _beautiful_.) "That would be an interesting experiment. I've never had sex with a multi-millionaire before."

Jared can't hide his grimace at that and Misha's face breaks into a wide smile. "You're picturing Donald Trump's O-face right now, aren't you?"

"Oh God," Jared groans, laughing even through his disgust. " _Now_ I am. Asshole."

"My gift to you."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't," Misha says, simple and easy, still watching Jared as he leans back and asks, "Do you bowl?"

Jared still feels a little off kilter with Misha's blatant flirting, but he shrugs and grabs a cold tater tot. Says, "Sure," because he has gone a few times in his life. He's not _good_ by any means and it's usually a pain to find bowling shoes big enough to fit him, but he still has a good time.

"When's your last final?"

"Uh," Jared has to think on that for a second as he chews. "The sixteenth. Thursday. Why?"

"Morning? Afternoon?"

"Morning."

Grinning, Misha knocks his knuckles against the table and says, "Soon as you're done, we're playing pool."

"Uh," Jared says again, not sure whether to be confused or amused. "Pool?"

"We'll work our way up to the bigger balls," Misha tells him with a smirk.

And that, apparently, is how Jared finds himself going on a date with his Composition TA. (Not that Misha had called it that, of course, but Jared figures if he's deluded himself this far, he may as well go for broke.)

"Isn't this breaking some kind of ethics code or something?" Chad asks when Jared shares the news.

"We're going after finals are over. And since when do you give a shit about ethics anyway?"

"Fuck you, I care. He still has to grade your shit. Those don't go in until, like, two weeks later or something."

"I don't know, I don't-- it's not a _real_ date or anything. We're just gonna hang out. Not a big deal."

Chad arches an eyebrow. "You just called it a date three seconds ago."

"Dude, let me have my fantasies."

"No. No. Your fantasies involve wasting an hour every Tuesday with a pervert who's gonna dock your grade if you don't suck his dick."

"He is not!" Jared argues, purely on principal. Because, well. He really isn't at all opposed to sucking Misha's dick. In fact, much of his current jerk-off material involves his mouth and Misha's dick and sometimes his fingers and Misha's ass when he really gets into it. But that's nothing Chad needs to know. Ever.

Shrugging, Chad grabs the remote. "Whatever, I'm over it. _Wheel of Fortune_ starts in two minutes."

Jared knows it's a sad day when _Chad_ is the voice of reason, but he also knows there's no way in hell he's turning down the chance to spend time with Misha outside of the cafeteria, blowjob or no.

Finals week is more stressful than Jared expects, but the date with Misha hangs in front of him like a dangling carrot and he pushes through. As soon as he finishes his Advanced Calculus exam on Thursday, he heads back to the dorm and spends an hour trying to figure out what to wear.

Chad watches from his bed, legs crossed at the ankles as he eats Cap'n Crunch straight from the box.

"You know, I know it's pretty early in our relationship," he mumbles through his mouthful, "but I'm pretty sure this is the gayest I have ever seen you."

"Gayer than when I admitted I'd rather go to a Lady Gaga concert than Nickelback?"

"That just proves you have shitty taste in music," Chad says. Jared's already learned the futility in arguing that one so he keeps his mouth shut and Chad adds, "You should wear the blue one. Doesn't make you look like you're trying too hard, but you're still bangable."

It's surprisingly helpful advice, really, and Jared picks up the suggested shirt as he thinks it over.

Then Chad ruins the moment by grumbling, "Fuck, I can't believe I'm condoning this," as he scrambles to his feet and rushes out the door. It slams shut behind him and Jared's left marveling for a moment over the fact that Chad even knows that word, nevermind can use it correctly in a sentence.

An hour later he's stepping into the Willis rec hall. The place is emptier than Jared's ever seen it (not surprising given that it's finals week) and it doesn't take him long to spot Misha across the room. He's embroiled in a discussion with a handful of people Jared doesn't recognize and Jared approaches cautiously, pasting on his usual easy smile.

Not for the first time, he feels seriously awkward. Misha's dressed in his typical, artfully ratty jeans and ugly sweater, no different from how he looks every other day. Because of course it's not a _date_. He just wants to hang out. Probably got sick of cold tater tots and hard plastic seats and just wants a change of scenery.

It would be a lie to say Jared's not disappointed, but when Misha finally catches sight of him and calls out, "Ah, my favorite giant!" with a bright smile, he finds no room for regret.

Misha introduces Jared to the people he's been speaking with, all them other TAs in the English department. They seem nice enough, though Jared doesn't really make any effort to remember their names. He doesn't miss the way one of the girls grins at Misha though, or the way Misha shoots her a quick glare before dismissing them with a, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to give this overgrown undergrad here one final lesson of the semester: How to lose spectacularly at pool."

"Oh, is that what's happening?" Jared asks, relaxing somewhat as they head to the nearest table. "You're planning on showing by example, right?"

"Afraid not, cowboy. This is a tough love lesson; you'll be learning it first hand."

"Hmm," Jared replies, shrugging out of his coat before grabbing a cue off the wall. "Guess we'll see about that."

"But in the name of fairness and good sportsmanship, I'll let you break."

Jared's pride kind of wants to argue, but he gets distracted by the twist of Misha's wrist as Misha chalks the tip of his cue and manages only a nod in reply.

He does at least pocket two balls on the break so he figures it's a win.

Truth is, Jared is not the best pool player in the land. It doesn't make sense considering the game is all about angles and trajectory and velocity. Simple geometry. Jared can rock that shit in his sleep so, theoretically, he should be able to utilize his knowledge in a practical setting.

The problem is he has absolutely no hand-eye coordination. None. A fact that's hindered his success in every sport since T-ball, to be honest.

So it really isn't surprising when Misha makes good on his promise and sinks his 8 ball within five minutes.

"Er. Best out of three?" Jared suggests as Misha straightens up.

Misha gives a low, throaty laugh and shakes his head. "Just don't know when to quit, do you?" he says and starts racking the balls. The look he throws Jared's way is a little interesting and Jared isn't quite sure how to respond so he chooses not to, easily guiding the conversation into his plans for winter break instead. Misha shares his own as they start into the second game, mentioning a trip to L.A. to visit his parents and brother over Christmas.

"Then it's down to San Antonio for a few days," he says, causing Jared's eyebrows to shoot up. Misha, clearly knowing the cause of Jared's interest, just grins. "Mariachi Vargas Extravaganza."

Still bent over the table, Jared blinks. Then stands up without taking his shot.

"I go every year," Misha says with what appears to be complete sincerity. "It's fantastic. Honestly, some of the most amazing musicianship you'll ever witness."

"You're shitting me."

"Of course not. I never joke about mariachi."

Jared can't help a laugh then, the sound bubbling out of him as he shakes his head. He honestly has no idea whether or not Misha's fucking with him.

But if he _isn't_. Well. Jared's not about to let that opportunity pass him by.

"We should meet up sometime, then," he says, trying his hardest to play it off like it's no big deal. Because it isn't. They're totally friends now at least; Jared's sure of it. "Catch lunch or something..."

"Oh, yes, of course," Misha says with a head tilt and a mock-innocent smile. "Because you live there. I'd almost forgotten."

And Jared, because he's not a _complete_ idiot, can tell Misha had done no such thing.

The realization that they're outright flirting sends a thrill down Jared's spine and he nearly laughs all over again as he bends once more to take his shot. He misses of course, but when he glances up to see Misha openly staring at him, he can't find it in himself to be too upset.

"You really are very bad at this game," Misha tells him before lining up his next shot. He sinks his number 4 ball easily and then stands up and walks toward Jared, cue in hand. "Either that," he says, smirking as he bumps Jared out of the way with his shoulder and then bends down right in front of him. He places one hand on the table, the other arm back, hips tilted up in a way that makes Jared's mouth go instantly dry. "Or," he continues, voice trailing as he nudges the stick back and forth a few times and then strikes the cue ball with a thunk. Jared hears the crack of billiard balls knocking together, but doesn't notice if Misha makes the shot or not; he's slightly distracted.

And he still doesn't move when Misha straightens up and turns around, the position leaving him fully within Misha's personal space.

"Or," Misha repeats, his gaze dropping briefly to Jared's mouth before lifting to his eyes again, "you're very good at pretending to be bad."

Jared can feel his cheeks heat red and he tries to swallow, completely pinned in place by the weight of Misha's stare. It's obvious that Misha isn't really talking about pool, but Jared's so stuck on the double entendre (that may or may not have been intentional; he can never really be sure with Misha) that he's having a difficult time mustering any guilt.

He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until Misha finally steps aside and Jared lets out a rough exhale. "I, uh," he starts before stopping to clear his throat. "I just--"

"It's your turn," Misha interrupts.

The bump of Misha's cue against his leg is enough to knock Jared into action and he turns abruptly, ignoring the way his ears burn as he takes in the lay of the table.

He can see the angles clearly, every necessary move to achieve the optimal result. But he knows his hands will fail him just like always: that he'll hit the cue ball too hard or not hard enough, that the tip will glance off in just the wrong way, that he'll knock his hand against the edge. It's entirely frustrating, doubly so with how flustered Misha is making him.

So the fact that he doesn't jump three feet in the air when Misha drops a hand to his lower back should get him a fucking medal.

"Your stance is shit," Misha says before kicking lightly at Jared's right foot. "Bring this one back a little."

Burying a whimper, Jared does as instructed, and lets Misha maneuver his shoulders and elbow, his eyes locked on the table the whole time. He feels hot all over, heart knocking hard against his ribs even as Misha pulls away with a, "Good, now try that."

Jared pauses for a second, takes a couple slow breaths to center himself before finally taking his shot. He knocks the cue ball into Misha's 6 which then careens into Jared's 3, sending it down the side and into the pocket with a satisfying plunk.

"Holy shit."

"Nice," Misha agrees, voice low and appreciative. "Very nice. Amazing what a little hands-on assistance can do, isn't it?"

Once again, the implication is clear and Jared's answering laugh comes out a little nervous as he raises a hand to scratch at his brow. Darting Misha a quick glance, he wanders to the other side of the table, mentally considering his next shot as he says, "So, uh. How long have you known?"

Misha's quiet for a moment, but Jared refuses to look his way, forcing his attention on the game.

"Known what?" Misha finally replies. "That you're a terrible pool player or a terrible liar?"

Worded that way, Jared sounds like either a royal asshole or a royal idiot, and he can't help wincing as he settles on a spot and leans to line up his cue. Misha waits until after Jared messes up his shot to answer.

Then he says, "Don't you think it's interesting I didn't call you on it before now?"

Lips tugging into an embarrassed frown, Jared shrugs. It's still his turn, but he's starting to think darting out the nearest exit instead is in his best interest.

On the other hand, considering some of the other things Misha's said, Jared thinks staying might be more interesting. Despite the embarrassment.

"I turned your grade in yesterday," Misha finally continues after a lengthy pause. "And I realize this is going to come as something of a shock, but you _miraculously_ managed to pull off an A."

Despite himself, Jared actually snorts at that, lips tugging into a quiet grin as he glances up to see Misha smiling right back at him from across the table.

"So, let me ask you this instead," Misha says, keeping his eyes on Jared as he ambles over. He stops about half a foot away and leans back against the edge of the table, cue still held in one hand. "Exactly how many snot-nosed undergrads do you think I let waste my time pretending they need tutoring?"

Slowly, Jared can feel the tension begin to drain from his body and he arches an eyebrow. "Snot-nosed?" he asked and Misha smirks.

"Okay, cartoonishly tall, exquisitely built, and ludicrously gorgeous. Sound better?"

Jared huffs a laugh. "Sounds like a lot of unnecessary adverbs."

"Ah, see, now I don't know if I taught you that or if you're just trying to make me think I did."

Cocking his head to one side, Jared takes a half a step closer and says with complete sincerity, "I did learn from you. Not all of that was bullshit."

"Yes, if nothing else, I at least broadened your musical palette," Misha concedes with a faint smile.

"If nothing else," Jared agrees.

They both fall quiet then and just stare at each other. Jared's never failed to recognize how blue Misha's eyes are, but he feels like he's finally given some unspoken permission to really _look_ this time and he drinks in his fill, his blood warming under his skin with growing want until Misha breaks the silence with, "I believe we've both lost interest in this game."

Jared breaks into a smile, his cheeks still flushed warm. "You think?"

"Do you concede defeat?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say I lost anything," Jared argues, all too happy to showcase his own double entendre.

But Misha only frowns at him thoughtfully. "Was this another ruse?" he asks with a head tilt. "Or are you really this awful at pool?"

"Uh," Jared says and merely offers a weak smile in lieu of having to embarrass himself much further.

"Huh. That's... unfortunate."

"Tell me about it," Jared mutters, turning his back to hang up his cue.

After cleaning up the table, they grab their coats and head back outside. Jared lets out a breath into the cold and watches the airy mist form in front of his face. He doesn't know where they're headed, content to let Misha lead the way, but he kind of hopes it's somewhere private. Or, in the very least, isn't the cafeteria under the student union.

"So how did your other finals go?" Misha asks as they walk. "I'm assuming you don't pretend to be inept in all your subjects."

Laughing a little, Jared gives Misha a sideways glance. Screws up the courage to reply with, "Only the ones with really hot TAs," and is rewarded with Misha's small grin in response.

"There are some very attractive teaching assistants in the engineering program."

Jared snorts a laugh before Misha can even finish his sentence and shakes his head as he says, "I don't make it a habit to act dumber than I actually am, no." When Misha gives him an amused glance, he amends, "Well, not on purpose anyway."

"So I should continue feeling honored then."

"By all means."

"I wasn't lying about the mariachi festival, you know," Misha says as they round a corner of Willis, along one of the lesser-used paths on campus. "I go every year."

Jared nods. He's heard of the festival before, but never gone. Never really even considered it honestly, but if Misha's going to be there...

"As of this coming Monday you will no longer be considered my student."

Jared doesn't even bother trying to fight his smile as he says, "Are you asking me out on a date? Like, a real one?"

"As opposed to a fake one?"

"As opposed to whatever it is we're doing right now."

"I don't understand, we're taking a walk," Misha says. "At what point does simply enjoying a a leisurely stroll with a friend enter the realm of fake and-or real dating?"

And Jared is about ninety-five percent sure Misha's playing dumb just to fuck with him, but they've been riding this line of flirtatious banter for _months_ now and he just-- He's done with it. He's _done_.

There isn't really any cover, no cluster of trees or bushes or large boulders to hide behind. And Jared is well aware that they're still on school grounds, that anyone could walk by at any moment, including any of a number of deans. So he knows it's a risk, and a seriously stupid one at that, but Misha doesn't fight at all as Jared grabs his arm and crowds him up against the wall.

"At this point right here," he says, one hand against the brick behind Misha's head, the other still wrapped around his forearm.

Misha opens to the kiss more readily than Jared had expected, head tipped back and lips parted. Jared groans at the simple _reality_ of it, blood rushing through his veins as he lifts his hand to thumb along the stubble of Misha's jaw, tilt him up for better access and just take all he can get. He can feel Misha grabbing fistfuls of his coat and tugging him closer and Jared is all too eager to lean in, blocking Misha in on all sides.

It's not smooth at all. Not at first. Misha huffs into his mouth and Jared bumps their noses together, but he doesn't care, hardly even notices, because Misha's tongue is in his mouth and he tastes like spearmint and PBR and Jared can't get enough of it. Misha gives as good as he gets, his tongue grazing the roof of Jared's mouth and the back of his teeth, teeth scraping his bottom lip. With a heavy groan, Jared presses it deeper, sucks Misha's tongue into his mouth and rocks his hips forward, swept away by thrumming need under his skin.

It's only the sound of nearing laughter that finally breaks the spell, Jared pulling back with a soft, reluctant sound before clearing his throat and attempting to look as innocent as possible. Misha pushes away from the wall, a hand smoothing over the front of his coat, eyes averted.

Of course, the three giggling students are too deeply engrossed in their conversation to so much as spare a glance toward the two suddenly awkward men standing right off the path, but the near miss is an immediate mood killer and Jared turns back to Misha with a small, nervous smile.

"Uhm," he says, huffing a laugh as he scratches the back of his neck. "So. That happened."

"Indeed," Misha replies, his voice still low and thick in a way that makes Jared ache all over again. "But perhaps we should keep any future intimacies more discreet."

Relishing the flare of hope in his gut, Jared grins. "Future?"

Misha's smile widens and he steps in close. "Am I being too presumptuos?"

It takes every shred of restraint Jared possesses to not lean in and steal another kiss and he says, "So, as of Monday, you're not my TA anymore, right?"

"Correct."

"But I leave for San Antonio tomorrow."

"I see," Misha says and, if Jared's not mistaken, he's pretty sure he catches a look of genuine disappointment there. "That is poor timing, yes."

Jared darts a few quick glances to his left and right before leaning in the tiniest bit. "We could go somewhere. Your place maybe? I promise I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Misha laughs then, head tipped back. "This sounds unwise."

"Probably because it is."

"And if we get caught?" Misha replies, eyebrow arched. He honestly doesn't look _too_ worried by the prospect, but Jared knows there must be at least some genuine concern as well. To the outside observer, their relationship could definitely appear suspect. Jared gets that. He does.

But still, he just smiles and shrugs and leans in the few inches further to bump his nose against Misha's and says, "Well, then I guess we'll just have to play dumb."

 **end.**


End file.
